


Sauntering Vaguely Downward

by semperama



Category: Band of Brothers, Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Alternate Universe - Good Omens Fusion, Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-25 13:53:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6197569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/semperama/pseuds/semperama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I have decided,” Nix says as he stalks past Dick’s desk, “that I don’t want the world to end.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sauntering Vaguely Downward

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jouissant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jouissant/gifts).



> This is for J on her birthday. Ilu. <33 (Omg look, thanks to you I have finally finished something for this fandom!)
> 
> Just a note: I don't think it's strictly necessary to have read Good Omens for this to make sense, but the idea arose from a conversation between myself and J about Winters and Nixon as Aziraphale and Crowley. But it probably also makes sense to think of them as a generic angel and demon.

The bell over the door rings, and Dick doesn’t even have to look up to know who it is—both because he can feel Nix coming from a mile away and because the sound of those heavy boots on the wood floor is fairly distinctive.

“I have decided,” Nix says as he stalks past the desk, “that I don’t want the world to end.”

_That_ makes Dick look up, but Nix has already disappeared into the back room. And there’s no need to guess what he’s doing back there. Sighing, Dick stands up and follows him. Judging by that opening line and the agitated clinking and clanking of bottles and glasses, this is a crisis that will demand his undivided attention. Not that Nix ever demands anything less.

Dick pauses in the doorway of the back room, leaning against the jamb and crossing his arms over his chest. “What was that?” he asks, even though he heard him just fine before.

Nix looks up at him just in time to slosh a little whiskey over the rim of his glass and onto the table. He doesn’t seem to notice, even when he looks down again and resumes pouring. “I said, this apocalypse business is a big mistake. The biggest mistake.”

“Hmm,” Dick hums.

“Hmm,” Nix repeats, mocking him. It’s gentle mocking though. A devilish grin crosses his lips, only to be washed away when he lifts his glass to his mouth and knocks half of it back. Dick has always wondered whether Nix’s alcohol tolerance is a feature of his human body or abetted by his demonhood. He supposes he’ll never find out.

Nix walks over and flops into one of the overstuffed red armchairs, holding his glass carefully aloft to protect the precious liquor inside. After a moment’s consideration, Dick pushes himself off the doorjamb and crosses the room to perch on the edge of the chair across from him. He wasn’t doing anything important anyway. He almost never is these days. Or maybe all the things he usually does are starting to feel less and less important.

“Why don’t you want the world to end, Nix?” he asks. He doesn’t even bother to hide the fact that he’s just humoring him.

“You sure you don’t want any of this?” Nix asks, ignoring the question in favor of wiggling his glass back and forth at Dick.

“I’m sure,” Dick says. He never has managed to get a straight answer about why Nix keeps that stuff here, knowing Dick doesn’t drink it. _It helps me deal with your virtuousness,_ he’d said once, but it had sounded like a lie. A lot of the stuff Nix says sounds like lies, but somehow Dick doesn’t really mind that anymore. Or maybe he never did.

“See, that’s your problem. You’re missing out on all the best stuff this world has to offer!” Nix takes another drink as if to demonstrate. Dick watches the movement of his throat for a moment and begs to differ, but that isn’t a case he plans to state out loud. Nix doesn’t give him a chance to anyway. He’s too busy continuing his tirade. “And that’s why someone should call off the apocalypse. Humanity has far too much going for it. Whiskey. Cigarettes. _Fast cars._ ”’

“You do realize that when pleading the case for humans, most people start with things like love and charity, right?” Dick isn’t sure that _he_ would start there, but half of arguing with Nix is teasing out his strange brand of logic by any means necessary. Even if that means playing Devil’s advocate. He supposes that’s a role he takes on more often than not anyway.

“Yes, and then the other party is obliged to point out the Spanish Inquisition, World War II…” Nix shrugs. “ _People_ are horrible, love and all that shit aside. But the things people have made? It’d be a real shame to lose it all.”

Dick can feel a grin coming on. He tries to fight it. “You’re becoming a hedonist.”

“No, Dick, don’t sell me short. I _am_ a hedonist. I always have been.” He raises his glass in mock salute.

Dick considers laughing, but he turns pensive instead. He thinks about this room, which smells like Nix to him—like whiskey and smoke and leather. He thinks about how it can’t _really_ smell like Nix, because none of those smells exist and heaven and probably not in hell either. If either of them have a smell in heaven or hell, they wouldn’t know, because all they have is this place. All they have ever had is this place, stretching back and back thousands of years. Dick knows he isn’t supposed to think of it as his home, but it’s too late for that.

“Besides,” Nix says, falling back into his chair and interrupting Dick’s thoughts, “I’m not done corrupting you yet.”

“You’re not _done_ corrupting me?” Dick asks, arching an eyebrow. 

“Oh, don’t act like I haven’t, my dear angel,” Nix purrs. “You haven’t bitten my head off for even suggesting that heaven’s perfect plan is the wrong one, and that’s plenty of evidence right there.”

This time Dick can’t fight the grin. It’s funny how, even after all this time, sometimes Nix can’t see past the metaphorical. He leans back in his chair and drums his fingers on his knee. “I can admit that occasionally the Powers that Be don’t get it right.”

Nix chokes on his whiskey, which only makes Dick grin wider. It’s not often that he manages to surprise him. He could easily become addicted to it, he thinks. 

“Well, now I’ve seen everything,” Nix says, thumbing a reflexive tear out of the corner of his eye, a leftover from his coughing fit. “I take it back. The world can end.”

With that, he drains his glass and goes to refill it. Dick watches him and thinks some more. He wonders if he’ll remember these things when he is called back to heaven: the dark gloss of Nix’s hair, the precise width of his shoulders, the little wrinkle he gets between his eyebrows. As he watches him, he thinks, _this isn’t really what he looks like_ , but he also thinks, _yes it is_.

They haven’t had many choices in the entire length of their existence. The way they are with each other is fleeting in relation to the unendingness of time, but somehow it’s the purest thing Dick has ever known. So maybe his reasons aren’t the same as Nix’s, but maybe he can understand wishing the apocalypse would hold off for another couple thousand years. Or forever. 

When Nix comes back, before he can make it to his chair, Dick catches his arm—the one holding the whiskey. Nix stops dead in his tracks, and a little of the amber liquid spills onto his wrist. 

“I don’t want it to end either,” Dick says quietly. The admission makes his stomach roll, and the things he still wants to experience make it roll harder. His gaze is fixed on the droplets glistening against Nix’s skin, though he can feel Nix’s gaze boring into the top of his head.

“It’s okay,” Nix says, his voice almost apologetic, as if he heard something completely different come out of Dick’s mouth. “It’s fine. Heaven’s better than all this, right? I barely remember it, but it’s probably better.”

“It’s not better.” It should be, but it isn’t. 

Nix tugs a little at his arm, trying to take it back, but Dick tightens his grip. He reaches up and takes the glass out of Nix’s hand, then lifts Nix’s arm, turns his head, and seals his mouth to the skin of his wrist, his tongue sneaking out to clean up the whiskey. It tastes sweeter than he would have imagined. Or maybe that’s just what Nix tastes like—sweet, like forbidden fruit.

“Dick,” Nix says. It sounds something like a prayer, and Dick almost wants to laugh. He straightens up and then tugs until Nix climbs into his lap. Nix’s eyes are wide, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. He was there for creation, and for countless wonders since then, and this is the thing he can’t believe. 

“I don’t think we can stop the world from ending,” Dick says. He feels compelled to be honest about that much. 

This time it’s Nix who looks like he’s fighting a smile. The wicked glint is starting to edge out the shock in his eyes. “There are a lot of other worlds out there,” he says. “We can find a new one together.”


End file.
